


Contrast

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, Romance, Vague Sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne finds more and more that she likes rough things...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrast

**Author's Note:**

> Vague but not explicit sexytimes ahead - nothing to make a hardened sailor blush, but still letting you be warned! No particular timeline, but I imagine this would obviously take place later in their relationship.  
> _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Marianne finds more and more that she likes rough things.

That wasn’t always the case. With Roland, she had thought he was Perfection, as though he had been poured into a mold of A Handsome Hero and made just for her, charming and polished and smooth, so smooth. He never slipped up with his charm, had never stumbled when dealing with others, and had taken a huge weight off her father’s mind as her future husband.

And then she found out how hollow that smoothness was, how it was just a shell, like his glamorous armor – bright and beautiful but brittle when put to the test. Smoothness became linked to falseness in her mind, and she wasted no time in sharpening herself, grinding her teeth in a snarl, letting her sword speak for her.

Sharpness hurt, but it never lied. It might have cut her, might have made Dawn withdraw from her, might have confounded her father, but she had learned a painful lesson.

And then she had gone into a world where thorns bit into her wings, a world with creatures that had claws and fangs that hid in the shadows…

And she had met Bog – _prickly, sharp, stay-away and do-not-touch_ – and somehow, somewhere in her mind or in her once shattered heart with all its hurt, little jagged pieces, she _knew_.

She craves his spikes, his prickliness, his roughness. She is fascinated over how when she touches his skin – _exoskeleton?_ – it catches on hers like it’s trying to keep her there. She recalls how she used to sigh over Roland’s perfect smooth skin and marvels at her old naïveté. Roughness is real – it’s his fingers catching in her hair, his sharp teeth a dangerous teasing whisper on her neck…

 _Smoothness and roughness_ , she wonders hazily as she bares her neck further to him, hissing as she feels the delicious friction of sensitive skin and fangs, usually kept in check but desperation making him careless. _How could they possibly compare?_

 

* * *

 

She has a reputation as being hard, and she is – _tough and capable and full of flinty fire_ \- but Marianne is also soft, and he can’t help but wonder if her kingdom is completely blind if they can’t see that.

If he is prickliness and the bite of spikes and darkness, than Marianne is softness as well as hardness, the perfect marriage between the two. With her cut-glass glances and her razor-edged grins, her sharp words and biting wit going to battle with his own in a fight they both love, she brings new meaning to the dangerousness of love.

But any real danger melts into softness and a vulnerable tenderness when she opens herself to him like a nervous bloom. The deep and beguiling warmth of her brown eyes, the silky slide of her hair over and under his fingers, her skin catching under his rough touch…She was a wonderful contradiction, his Tough Girl with her aching tenderness.

She clutches at him, the softness of her skin ironic as she drags him closer, her fist clenched and fierce and her mouth even fiercer, and it’s hard to imagine any bite of his could compare to hers.

* * *

 

There’s shyness on his part, pure _I’ve Never Done This Before_ nerves on hers, but they still meet in the middle, and soon any awkwardness is lost to touch and heat and the hunger for more, more of the contrast of rough against soft, the slide of fangs on flesh. Heartfelt, breathy moans make a gorgeous counterpoint to bitten-back, deep throated growls, the sound of pure and utter need making a song for just the two of them, throaty and half wild…

Their contrast, their differences, is all they could ever want.

 


End file.
